To begin with, Dustin had long made it a habit to feed the squirrels peanuts every morning. Indeed, the numerous squirrels at Davenport Park not only grew to recognize him, but also his bicycle, if it happened that he was not attached to it. If ever Dustin was asked "why," he would demurely explain that he did it for "good Karma," that as a struggling street musician in St. Augustine, Florida, if feeding the squirrels brought him any good luck, in the way of tips from the tourists, he was desperate to avail himself of it.
Due to the city ordinance banning street musicians (buckers) from playing within fifty feet of St. George Street, which is the main tourist thourghfare, and after trying different locations at which to play, he finally decided that Cuna Street was the most successful, due to the heavy pedestrian traffic and the acoustics. For a while, although occasionally having to rotate with other musicians, everything seemed pretty salubrious, until an influx of guitarists breezed into town from Jacksonville, and quickly realized the advantages of Cuna Street, also. One of whom, a loutish, no-talent, non-guitarist, who had evidently discovered that pretending to play the guitar for tips from gullible tourists was easier than washing dishes in a restaurant, began arriving at Cuna Street at ungodly hours in the morning, and hogging the spot for the entire day, blithely depriving actual musicians an opportunity to play there at all.
When, as it would rarely happen, that Dustin would find that Cuna Street was still available, this obnoxious poser would merely station himself on the other side of St. George Street, and contemptuously up-stage Dustin, playing much louder, drowning Dustin out, thereby drawing more attention to himself, and, consequently, more tips.When, as it would rarely happen, that Dustin would find that Cuna Street was still available, this obnoxious poser would merely station himself on the other side of St. George Street, and contemptuously up-stage Dustin, playing much louder, drowning Dustin out, thereby drawing more attention to himself, and, consequently, more tips.
Later, due to the lout's example, it became a constant practice of the other gaggle of street musicians, including other guitarists, accordion players, one-man bands, one-man cacophony operators, a seedy-looking guitarist who dressed his dog as a homosexual Rastafarian, complete with dread-locks, top hat, and large sunglasses (the dog made more in tips than the guitarist), and the like, to position themselves on the other side of St. George Street, opposite whoever was already on Cuna Street, and when it was Dustin, up-stage and over-play him, drawing more attention to themselves, and, consequently, more tips from the tourists.
In the mornings, as Dustin fed his squirrel buddies peanuts, (while the phony guitarist was already staking his all day claim on Cuna Street), no number of entreaties or cajoling of the squirrels seemed to help any longer. In the face of direct competition, his attempt to earn good Karma was defeated.
Finally, in humbled resignation, he retreated to another street, or alley, actually, where he had never seen (or heard) another street musician play, and where, due to the short length of the alley, he could not be up-staged by a competitor. Despite the narrow window of opportunity, due to the amplified "in house" musicians early each afternoon, and fewer tourists, he hoped for some minor success. After all, his needs were simple, and few. However, Dustin made a pleasant discovery: Squirrels frolicked there, also! In fact, every time he would set up to play, he would put out three peanuts on a water meter cover, as a conciliatory offering to his new, furry allies.
As simply as possible, Dustin attempted to make it understood by the squirrels that, whenever he received a good tip, he'd reward the squirrels by feeding them more peanuts. Occasionally, just seeing the cute, little squirrels pirouetting and capering for peanuts around him as he played was enough to earn Dustin tips (much like the Dog Man, he supposed, ironically), and the squirrels, as intelligent as they are, soon realized the connection between the green paper in Dustin's hat and the peanuts in their paws.
Dustin later admitted to himself that he did begin to grow suspicious that, with all the squirrel activity around him, his hat was becoming unusually plump with one and five dollar bills, even when there wasn't, necessarily, always the presence of tourists. Nevertheless, living up to his pledge, he continued to reward the squirrels peanuts every time he received a good tip, whether he noticed where the tip had come from or not.
It wasn't much later, however, that word got back to him, through non-street musician sources, how the accordion player, the cacophony-machine operator, the street hog poser, the guy with the gay dog, and others, where suddenly being raided, systemically, by gangs of squirrels. The squirrels would, reportedly, race in, snatch paper money out of their guitar cases, cigar boxes, or whatever, and dart away, scurrying over walls, under gates, or down the red-brick streets, disappearing to God only knew where.
"Serves 'em right," Dustin mused. "Just goes to show what Karma can do."
THE END
This post first appeared on Horror Stories By Douglas W. Cracraft, please read the originial post: here
